Monday, August 11, 2014

My soul is detached
I'm a decadent
Swaying towards pain
I celebrate ruins of love imprisonment

Alas, birds call of signs
And transcendent vision
Touching my skin
Through hell and heaven collision

Read pious lines
Of God and devotion
Scroll division
Of placid and emotion

Nothing has rebirthed
Command is near
I'm free of painful
Transcendent is here

Stripe on my bosom
Bees butterflies run
Us Without wings